


The Way To A Band's Heart (Is Through Its Drummer)

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mild Language, Mild suggestion of past non-con drug use, Mild suggestion of past violence, Roger POV, brush your teeth after reading this because it's pure candy fluff, the boys are such good friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 15:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18640933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: Freddie's eyes ALWAYS sparkled when he talked about the dark, handsome Irishman who had been in and out of his life for a year or so. Roger hadn't had much chance to form an opinion on the relationship, but so far the jury was very, very much out.





	The Way To A Band's Heart (Is Through Its Drummer)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [royaltyisshe64](https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyisshe64/gifts).



> With much gratitude to @royaltyisshe64, researcher extraordinaire and purveyor of interesting facts.

September, 1985, Munich

  

What a huge bloody relief to have this video shoot over with.

Roger was not a fan of music videos. Hell, he'd written a song railing against them—that had, much to his chagrin, been turned into a rather good music video. Their new song, Roger's "One Vision," had started out as a paean to Martin Luther King. What it was now...who knew? By the time Freddie had re-written most of it, and ended it with "fried chicken" in place of the title, Roger didn't recognise his handiwork anymore. And God only knew what the myriad video clips would be edited to look like. 

He was beginning to enjoy his disgruntled internal monologue when Freddie interrupted. Bouncing in to remind the rest of the group about the wrap party that night, Freddie looked happier than he'd been in years. "Just the band, my darlings, at Mack's house." 

"Just the band?" John inquired, one eyebrow raised. 

Roger knew what he was implying. Would it be just the band, or just the band plus the roadies and techs and God knows who else, ending with some sort of bacchanalian excess? 

"Well, just the band and my Jim, of course," Freddie said smoothly. His eyes sparkled. Freddie's eyes ALWAYS sparkled when he talked about the dark, handsome Irishman who had been in and out of his life for a year or so. Roger hadn't had much chance to form an opinion on the relationship, but so far the jury was very, very much out. 

"Of course we're coming," Brian assured him as he wiped invisible dust off the Red Special before laying it in its case. "We'll catch a taxi in just a few minutes, okay?" 

John nodded. Roger just sighed and lit a cigarette. This could be a long night. 

The three of them piled into one taxi, Brian's legs twisting into a shape that could not possibly be comfortable. Roger scooted further into John's space to give Brian a bit more room as John asked, "After having Jim around at the shoot for the last few days, what do we think of him? I mean, he seems okay. He didn't interrupt the way some of them did, just sat there and watched. And Fred seemed happy with him." 

"He convinced Freddie to keep 'fried chicken' as the last line of my song," groused Roger. 

John, chuckling, patted Roger's knee. "We've all had weird stuff done to our songs, Rog. No need to pout over it." 

"Fried CHICKEN? Fuck." Feeling entitled to at least a bit of a sulk, Roger folded his arms and hunched forward. 

Undeterred, John leaned over Roger to ask Brian his opinion. "Have you had the chance to get to know Jim at all, Bri?" 

"Sort of." Brian's gaze fell into the middle distance the way it always did when he was thinking. "At the birthday party, the weird black-and-white thing, Freddie had a panic attack." 

"What?"  
"You didn't tell us!" 

"It didn't last long. I went to help out but he was insistent that he wanted Jim, and just minutes later he was calm again. I've never seen him settle down so fast." 

"What brought that on?" John asked, his body getting tense at the idea of Freddie having one of his episodes. 

Brian's expression was pained. "Someone slipped drugs into his drink, I heard. Not really sure—Freddie didn't want to talk about it, after; you know what he's like." 

Drugs. Roger's senses fired up in anger. "Drugs? Sounds like Prenter to me!" 

"Well, he was there, so maybe..." Brian, shaking his head, trailed off and stared down at his hands. 

"'Maybe,' my arse. If there's something drug-related involving Freddie, Prenter's leading the charge." 

John pulled a face as if he'd bitten down on a rotten lemon. "Can anyone tell me why that utter gobshite is on our payroll?" 

"Ask Jim Beach," Brian sighed. "In any event, Freddie's Jim did a good job calming him down. He doesn't seem the type to hurt anyone."  
  
Roger snorted. "You always think people won't hurt you, Brian, even when the knife with their fingerprints all over it is embedded between your shoulder blades." 

It was true. Roger loved Brian to pieces, but the guy had no self-protection mechanisms in place at all. Brian gave him a cold-eyed stare at which Roger just snickered and blew him an affected kiss. 

Shaking his head ruefully, John said, "Freddie's taste in men does leave a lot to be desired. Rather like your taste in shoes, Bri." 

"Gang up on me all you want," Brian complained, taking one clog off and waving it at John before sliding it back on his foot, "but I think that Jim might finally be the real deal." 

"I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt," John admitted, but Roger shook his head vehemently as the taxi pulled up in front of Mack's house. 

"He's gonna have to prove himself to me, first." Roger paid the cabbie as John and Brian opened the doors and started walking up to Mack's front door. 

There was no time like the present.

Roger accepted a vodka and tonic from Mack's wife, whose name he never could quite recall, and began his reconnaissance mission. Some tiny part of his brain registered that this was probably a bad idea, but Roger shoved that thought aside. He'd soothed too many of Freddie's emotional breakdowns and bandaged too many of his physical injuries to take Jim at face value, especially since Freddie's track record with men was so god-awful. 

It wasn't difficult to spot Jim standing in the hallway talking to John. Roger hid himself around the corner so that he could watch their interaction. Jim was saying something that made John turn a little pink and duck his head. 

"...thinks the world of you, John." 

"Eh. I'm only the bass player." 

"Don't sell yourself short—Freddie really does love you. Oh, and this is yours," Jim said, pointing to something hanging on the coatrack. 

Roger had to crane his neck, risking detection, to see what Jim was pointing to. It was a dry-cleaning bag with a shirt. His eyes were too weak to identify the pattern but it looked loud, like something John would wear. 

"It was kind of you to give him this when he got so cold in the studio that one day," continued Jim. Freddie had been complaining that he was freezing, so John had stripped down to his undershirt—the cameras were still rolling, of course—and literally gave Freddie the shirt off his back. "I've had it cleaned for you." 

John glanced at the shirt, then cocked his head and grinned at Jim. "Wow. You really didn't have to do that." 

"Isn't what Freddie usually does when he returns clothes he borrowed from someone in the band?" 

Laughter rang through the narrow hallway. "What is this 'return' of which you speak?" John chortled. 

There was a moment's silence, then Jim groaned. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that man will be the death of me. Do I need to check his closets?" 

"Nah, don't worry about it. Roger's still wearing stuff he 'borrowed' from Freddie in 1970." 

"Oi!" Roger shouted, then slapped his hand over his mouth when he remembered that he was supposed to be spying. John peered around the corner, laughing even harder, but whatever he was planning to say was swallowed up by a sudden, deafening racket. 

The sounds were coming from the kitchen, childish wails intermingled with adult shouting. As the noise reached a crescendo Freddie appeared, rushing up to Jim with panic in his dark eyes. "Jim, help us, you've got to do...something! Right now!" he cried, tugging at Jim's arm and motioning toward the source of the pandemonium. 

John and Roger exchanged confused glances as they followed Freddie and Jim to the kitchen. Brian was sitting at the little table with his back to the door, an enormous glob of something pink hanging in his hair. Julian and John Frederick were crying at a truly impressive volume, and Mack was rummaging through a kitchen drawer. 

"What the hell is that?" Roger asked, pointing at Brian's head. "Is that...gum?" It looked as if an entire pack of the stuff had been chewed up by the two little boys who were now clinging to John's leg as he tried to console them. 

Brian turned around and nodded. "It was an accident," he whispered as he picked at the mess in his hair, grimacing at the wet lump that didn't look as if it were going to shift anytime soon. "Don't make them feel any worse than they already do." 

"Es tut mir so leid!" wailed Julian. "I'm so sorry, Uncle Brian!" 

"It's only hair. It'll grow back, you'll see," Brian said with a wan smile that didn't fool anyone. 

"Grow back?" Roger asked as the realisation struck him hard enough to make him feel dizzy. "You mean..." 

"Found them," Mack said, holding up a pair of kitchen shears with long, shiny blades. "I'm really, really sorry about this, Brian." 

Freddie let out a loud, dramatic gasp and clutched Jim's bicep. "Darling, please, don't let him do it! Oh, I can't look, I can't LOOK!" 

Roger swallowed the rest of his drink in one gulp. Mack took hold of a large handful of Brian's curls and poised the scissors' blades on either side. Brian's face radiated stoic acceptance as he waited for the axe...scissors...to fall. 

Even John flinched in sympathy. 

Suddenly Jim laid his hand over Mack's, like God stopping Abraham from sacrificing Isaac. "Do you have peanut butter?"

The non sequitur made everyone stand still and blink, silently trying to process the words. 

"I have little boys. Of course I have peanut butter. Chunky or smooth?" Mack asked, the scissors still hovering dangerously close to Brian's scalp. 

"Seriously, you're worried about being peckish?" Freddie yelped. "You want to make a sandwich at a time like this? Just LOOK at poor Brimi!"

Jim pulled Mack's hand away from Brian's head. "I need peanut butter and some ice. For Brian's hair, not a sandwich," he said slowly but kindly, as if to someone not very bright. While Mack and the boys went to get the supplies, Jim ran his fingers over the undamaged locks. "It'd be a shame to cut beautiful hair like yours, so let's try a different tack, shall we?" 

"Please, anything!" Brian exclaimed, covering his face in relief. Roger slumped against John's arm and watched as Jim ran peanut butter over the disaster area. He applied ice to small sections and the gum began to come out, bit by bit, under his patient, skilled fingers.

Meanwhile, Freddie was staring at Jim with the adoring, worshipful fascination of someone who'd just witnessed a miracle. 

Roger hadn't been aware of John's tight grasp on his arm until it loosened more and more with every chunk of gum Jim pulled away. He hadn't seen Brian with short hair since the Smile days when he'd still been trying to straighten it, and the look hadn't been good. 

"Might not be a bad idea to have a hairdresser around," John whispered, a wicked glint in his eyes. "You know, for when you decide to do your hair green or something." 

Roger cuffed him. 

"There," Jim announced proudly, more to Freddie than to Brian, "the rest will come out with shampoo. Mack, could you...?" 

"Of course. Come with me, Brian, we'll sort you out." 

As Brian followed Mack toward the bathroom, he passed Roger and gave him a look that clearly said " _SEE HOW NICE JIM IS_?" 

Roger had to concede this point to Jim, but he still remained unconvinced. 

"I need another drink," John muttered as he wandered off in search of something even stronger.

"Bring me one!" Roger called after him. He stood with his hands on his hips, watching with increasing concern when he heard Jim say, "Let's go somewhere more private," as he grabbed Freddie by the wrist. It didn't seem hard enough to hurt, but Roger knew the pattern: just a little rough, then very rough, then brutal. He shook his head to release the cobweb of childhood memories too painful to relive, then quietly followed behind Jim and Freddie. 

As soon as the two lovers were in another room, unaware that they were being watched from the hallway, Roger feared the worst. He was pleasantly, exceedingly surprised when Freddie suddenly launched himself into Jim's arms and started kissing him. "Thank you, darling! You saved poor Brian's hair! You're an absolute genius!" 

Jim's deep brown eyes widened as he returned the lightning-quick kisses. The hand he ran through Freddie's hair was gentle and he smiled happily against Freddie's mouth. 

It was far from the harsh treatment Roger had been fearing, as far as any gesture could possibly be. 

"I know you think I'm foolish," began Freddie in between kisses, "but I do love my boys so much." 

"So much that you wouldn't let harm fall on a single hair of their head, much less a handful of them?" Jim joked, and Freddie's bright laughter was like birdsong in Roger's ears. 

"Is there ANYTHING you don't know how to do?" Freddie purred. Roger, suddenly aware of the horrendous breach of privacy he was committing, started to walk away, but Jim's response stopped him in his tracks. 

"I don't know how to make you understand just how much love you deserve," Jim said, the lilt of his accent making the words even more poignant. "But I've got a lifetime to teach you, if you'll have me." Jim took Freddie's face in his hands, holding as delicately as if he were made of porcelain, and gave him a long, tender kiss. 

That would have been enough to satisfy even Roger's high standards, but it was the way Freddie relaxed into his touch, free of any hesitation or anxiety, that brought happy tears to Roger's eyes. 

He saw similar moisture in John's eyes when he handed Roger a fresh vodka tonic. There might even have been a hint of sentimentality in Brian's visage as he came over, the famous black curls shining wetly, and put one arm around each of them. 

"I told you so," Brian said with a smirk. 

Roger wanted to be annoyed, but he was too relieved. He leaned against Brian and heaved a huge sigh. He wanted to tell him how perceptive he was, how good it was to have a friend with such an eye for detail and so much love in his heart. He wanted to tell Brian what a joy it was to see Freddie happy at last. 

"You still smell like peanuts," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lydiannode - come talk to me!


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